


If you need a friend, I'm sailing right behind

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Gift Fic, Healing, Prompt Fill, Recovery, because that answer matters, boys might get drunk-ish, fitzward brotp takes the central stage though, one in which Fitz wants the answer to the question "why", physical injuries, redemption story, skyeward is there, there's angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo Fitz might very well spend the rest of his life in wheelchair, due to the nature of his injury, but he doesn't give up on the chance that rehabilitation offers him. One of the things he wants to know is the answer to the question - why did he end up like this? Why did Grant Ward do all the things he did?</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you need a friend, I'm sailing right behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AstridV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstridV/gifts).



> Written for my friend AstridV, who wanted a fic based on a prompt "Grant Ward takes a bullet for either Fitz or Simmons, or both". I hope this meets your expectations, sweetie, and I'm sorry for the long wait. 
> 
> The title comes from the Simon and Garfunkel song "Bridge over troubled water".

_”Because I loved him very much, I wanted to forgive him. I wasn’t scared of him, but worried that he would be scared of me.”_ \- a quote by a Rwandan genocide survivor about his childhood friend and a man who killed his family; from [“Voices of reconciliation” by Jeremy Cowart](http://jeremycowart.com/2011/11/voices-of-reconciliation/)

*

**_True love says, "I have seen your worst and I'm staying.”_**

 

*  
*

 

Fitz still remembers waking up and the way the pain felt. Not the blinding intensity of it, but the fact that he couldn't feel it from his waist and below. 

The second thing that hit him back then was how he ended up in that bed, and the pain of not feeling his legs, not being able to move wasn't anywhere near the pain inside his chest. 

“Where is he, Simmons?” Fitz asked, insisted, but nobody would tell him at first. And he'd find it out, if he could get up and walk. Instead he had time he didn't want to waste and silence he didn't want to have, and unanswered questions to think about.

They had laughs together. 

Why?

Ward had a choice, didn't he? 

*

Fitz doesn't like unanswered questions. He doesn't like unfinished projects, he doesn't like giving up halfway, and he doesn't _do_ giving up. When the doctors say it's very unlikely he'll be able to regain control over his lower body, he insists he'll stand on his own again. When Simmons refuses to help out (he understands and absolutely hates her new over protectiveness, and he is not a child, he is a man, and he will stand again); Fitz ropes Trip into helping. It's ironic, because all his life he ignored and neglected his muscles (the very ground of traditional sense masculinity, and of course he has Ward on his mind. How could he not?) The result is increase in upper body strength to the point Fitz never experienced before. 

But then comes a day when he lifts himself up. And stands. And he can feel his toes. So he sets his goal higher. He will walk. 

*

Fitz doesn't _leave_ things unfinished. 

He's in the middle of a repairing a scanner and bossing around three other agents (because they can move better and faster than he can in his wheelchair) - he lasts about thirty minutes on crutches now, ten more than last week, and he works and _works out_ every day, and thinks Ward would be proud of him even if he doesn't understand Ward, and despite everything he's refusing to close that chapter forever. Not until he can ask, not until he gets an answer from the only person who can actually give it – and that's when he sees Ward for the first time after months. 

Fitz bumps against a box on the floor and before he can straighten up to sit and wheel himself further into the lab he looks down the hallway. And sees Ward and several other agents around him. 

It's a shock and then a moment of processing because he doesn't remember Ward looking so worn and old. The thick black beard only makes the impression worse. Ward stops and goes pale and in the next moment one of the agents nudges him forward so roughly, Fitz flinches. 

*

“I want to know where he's being held.” 

Fitz doesn't bother thinking about how they all look down at him when he wheels himself straight into a meeting. 

“You're not supposed to be here, Agent Fitz.”

Talbot. The kind of guy who thinks he can stare down the people like Fitz and people in general. Coulson and May say nothing and Skye stiffens, her hands hovering over the holo - screens. 

“I'm the guy who makes sure your guns and cars work, General,” he says. “I wouldn't dismiss me so easily.” 

“I don't have time for this,” Talbot says, and before Fitz is able to put up any fight, Talbot himself wheels him out, but that doesn't feel as humiliating as Coulson saying nothing about it. 

It's always good to know where your place is. 

Later he has a fit in front of the team and he hates the way they keep silent and say nothing, as if they'd hurt him (as if!). So he shouts that he deserves answers, that he's not dead and not even paralyzed and asks of them all for a billionth time to stop protecting him. 

Then he storms off, as fast as his crutches allow him and collapses into his bed. 

*

Trip is the easiest to talk to. Trip is also the only one who can assist with the physio without looking like he's constantly sorry, like he might bloody cry; instead Trip makes jokes and high fives Fitz, gossips like an old lady or talks about food. (Fitz doesn't mind talking about food, especially if eating of said food follows such conversation, and with Trip it usually does – which is how Fitz gains weight, which makes Jemma happy. That's how Fitz ends up spending a lot of time with Trip.) They're in the kitchen when Fitz asks something that's been troubling him awhile. 

“Garrett was your SO,” Fitz starts. Trip looks up from the french toast he's making. Fitz can't read his expression, but there is no hurt, no warnings, so he proceeds. “Do you ever wonder -”

“How I didn't figure him out?” Trip rolls his shoulders, like he wants to shake off the tension. His expression falls. “Of course I do.”

“So?” Fitz rolls his wheelchair closer and leans back. 

“I don't know, man,” Trip says and frowns. Looks distant. “I mean, I think about it a lot. I never -,” he sighs. Fitz nods. 

“You feel you should have known and done something,” Fitz says. 

“Yeah,” Trip agrees. Waits a bit. “I liked the damn son of a bitch. Thought he was a good officer. Was happy when he was proud of me.”

Fitz takes a deep breath.

There are moments when you stare at a complex mechanism that looks chaotic at first. Or too complicated. You don't see what's broken. Or you do, but not the way to fix it, not right away. And then something sparks. Sudden understanding. 

“Because he manipulated you,” Fitz says.

“Damn straight.”

“So he could have done it to Ward too,” Fitz says, and catches Trip's vary look. “I'm not an idiot,” he says. “I just want to understand.” 

Trip turns off the stove and turns to face Fitz. There's a heavy look in his eyes. 

“What if there's nothing to understand?” he asks. 

Well, fair question. Fitz has thought about that too. 

“I don't think that's the case,” he says. “But even if it is, I want to hear it myself.” He pats his leg and the wheel of his wheelchair. “I think I deserve it.”

*

Three days later he learns that Ward has escaped. The whole base springs into action but amidst the chaos (as if they're hunting a wild and dangerous animal), there's a part of Fitz that silently cheers. 

He's not sure why. Or maybe, he is.

*

They don't catch him. A month passes and then another and there is no sign of Ward, even though they're actively searching. Even though Fitz too is involved in the search. (Everyone is). 

“I don't get it,” Fitz says after a briefing, painstakingly navigating his wheelchair through the hallways of their new base of operations. The place is on borrow from Talbot, technically, because it used to be a military base back in the second world war - which is how Talbott keeps tabs on Coulson and demands things like intel. Then, sometimes, comes out looking smarter than he has the right to. 

Fitz is fine walking with a crutch through the first half of a day, but then he gets tired, and Simmons keeps watching him like a hawk. He doesn't dare disobeying her, so he sits while Skye tasks herself with pushing his wheelchair. “Are we on a witch hunt?” 

Skye slows down. It's almost as if he can feel her going rigid and metaphorically cold behind his back, and the thing is, that's not all of it. She's furious, Simmons is furious and they're convincing each other they hate Ward. It's like Ward is the perfect and the only target they all can direct their anger at. “It's a mission objective,” Skye says. “I don't wanna discuss it.”

“Maybe that is the problem.”

“And maybe you're naïve,” Skye says when they reach Fitz's door. He spins the wheelchair around to face her. 

“Oh that's rich,” he says, looking up at her. “I'm naïve for wanting a bloody explanation?”

“What kind of explanation can ever excuse him? And what he did to you? Fitz, you almost died,” Skye says in a breath. Fitz shakes his head. 

“You used to have – you used to look at both sides. What happened to that Skye?”

Her face looks stone cold. Fitz thinks it's a mask. He _hopes_ it's a mask. 

“Maybe Ward killed her,” she says and turns to leave. 

Fitz looks after her and thinks, _maybe it's you who's killing her_. 

He enters his room, locks the door, wheels himself over to the window (this time around he has one) and stares up, at the far away sky. He misses it. Misses the bus and the bubble they lived in and wonders again, why. 

“I just want you to explain me that,” he says, and spends the night tossing around his bed (and he will absolutely not go to Simmons and ask for a sedative and watch her freak out over him for the next ten days.) It's not the first time, anyway. 

*

Everything about the situation looks a bit ridiculous once they realize the Hydra base has been raided by someone who came before them. 

Fitz watches via video feed as the team searches what's left of the place – it looks like a small army stormed through the compound big enough to hold twenty men. Inside the team finds fifteen – all of them thoroughly tied up, some knocked unconscious and two with a duct tape over their mouth. A lot of things are smashed but what remained intact is following (as Agent Tripplett recites as the team moves) – the computers and their hard drives, weapons, ammunition and medical supplies, which are neatly stacked on a desk. 

Coulson looks suspicious. Jemma and Trip discuss who might have done it. Skye is tight lipped. 

Fitz just smugly smiles. 

*

“It's him,” Fitz says after they haul a third group of Hydra captives to Talbot, who is, very mildly put, confused. 

“We don't know who it is, Fitz,” Jemma sighs. 

“What is there to know? What do you think, who else could do this?” Fitz insists. 

“You want to _believe_ that it's him,” Skye says, trying hard to keep her expression detached. “That he did something nice for us? That there's something that could redeem him?”

Fitz looks at her, long and heavy. Thinks how she doesn't understand and then realizes that maybe he doesn't understand her. Or what Ward meant (and possibly still means) to her. Wonders if he should keep his mouth shut and finds that he can't. He's not sure why, he's not sure if he's proving something and what is it, but he just can't let this carry on. He leans against his crutch and looks down at his feet and thinks of waking up and not being in control over his lower body for two full weeks. Thinks how humiliating it felt, and wonders why it had to happen and what made Ward listen to John Garrett so blindly. 

Leo Fitz has seen bad people. He's seen cowards. He's seen liars and bullies and people he never wanted to talk to again. But he has never seen such blind obedience like Ward's towards Garrett. And he wants to know why. 

“Is it so terrible to believe that? How is that worse than believing any human being – Ward or anyone else – are just something we should hunt and -” 

He doesn't finish. He can't. 

His throat suddenly clenches and his leg hurts. Skye calls after him and he knows she'd start saying she's sorry (because nobody wants to upset him), but he doesn't want that. He doesn't want apologies. He doesn't want placating. He just wants some bloody answers. 

*

Next month they finally see him. 

He is a blurry image on a security camera, moving around the Hydra base and methodically gathering things before he leaves. Taking medical supplies for himself and leaving the rest for the team. He looks almost unchanged, _almost_ as Fitz remembers him; neatly and practically dressed, with less weight and a bit longer hair. He doesn't have the beard any more but he's not clean shaven either. 

He looks healthy. Fitz holds the edge of the table he's leaning against and breathes in relief. He looks healthy and unharmed. Next to him Skye's eyes seem watery. 

*

Of course a disaster happens when they least expect it. Disasters are like that, otherwise they wouldn't be disasters at all. Fitz is limping in the direction of the plane, the base behind them is in flames and everything is going to hell. Before they can even begin to wonder how it happened, they realize something else has happened. 

Skye is missing. 

* 

Fitz has spent enough time outside the safety of the lab to know how this game is played. Whoever took Skye (Fitz has suspicions) is three steps ahead of them, and thus, determining what happens next. 

Sure enough, Raina contacts them, and it's not that she wants something, except to leave a note to Coulson. _How does failure feel, Director?_

Coulson is desperate enough to bargain with his own life. Raina doesn't want it. “Rest assured, Director, she is in good hands. Who wouldn't want to be reunited with their long lost family?”

Silence falls over their miniature hideout – miniature compared to the base they just lost. The video feed is cut and everyone is still staring at the screen like it might provide answers, but it doesn't. Trip grips the edge of the table. May grows very pale. Jemma looks at Coulson. 

“Sir?” it's all she can say before alarms start blaring full force. 

*

“Tell me why shouldn't I just kill you,” May says. The grip she has on the gun promises she means it. 

Seeing Ward face to face after all that time – after little hints and grainy video feeds is a shock. Fitz can't calm down his racing heart. None of them are calm. May might look at him murderously, but she is still pale, there is a bruise on Coulson's cheek, and Trip's lip is split. Fitz can't stand, so he grips the handles of his wheelchair. Next to him Jemma stands as if she's ready to strike anyone who might threaten him – namely, Ward – and it's a ridiculous amount of tension aimed at a man who's holding his hands high in the air. 

For a brief moment he looks at Fitz. The darkness that passes his eyes in unmistakable. Ward doesn't even try to mask it. 

“I know where Raina is,” Ward says. “How about that for a reason?”

May narrows her eyes at him. 

“Why would we trust you?”

Ward shrugs. “I can't make you,” he says. “But Raina got her because of her father.” 

May looks at Coulson. 

“What do you – her parents are dead,” Coulson says.

“Her _parents_ killed the villagers,” Ward retorts. Fitz can almost feel Coulson freezing. He has no idea what this is about. Jemma looks at Ward, then at Fitz and finally at Coulson. “Ah. So you didn't tell them. Did you tell _Skye_?”

“The nerve you have,” Coulson says. 

“I do,” Ward says, starting to sound angry. “I'm the consequence of all your secrets, Director.”

May raises her hand and puts the gun against Ward's temple. “Go ahead,” he says, calm now and collected. “But only after she's back safe.”

* 

It's hard to plan lunch, let alone a rescue mission when the person you're planning with is branded a traitor. Therefore: not to be trusted. 

“What do you get out of it?” Coulson insists. 

“Skye back to safety,” Ward tells him as the team – six of them – goes over the compound plan again. 

“What do _you_ get?” Coulson repeats, as if there's something wrong with Ward's ability to understand things. In all honesty, Fitz has a feeling that Ward is ten steps ahead almost at all times, which makes everyone feel uneasy. It's like being held hostage, which is why May is twitchy, grimly looking at Ward and not leaving her gun anywhere but on herself. Gun, not an icer. Fitz gets a lecture from Coulson – Jemma and Trip are there but Fitz knows it's meant only for him – that Ward is an enemy and a traitor, dangerous ( _No need to remind us, Sir,_ Jemma says) and not to be trusted. 

“You would never know how to fix something, anything,” Fitz tells Jemma later, “if you don't know what went wrong in the first place.”

“He was going to kill us. He killed people. He killed Koenig, _you've seen what he'd done, Fitz_ ,” she's saying, her eyes burning. “you've heard Skye. That's what went wrong.”

“He saved your life as well,” Fitz is barely able to speak, because it _is_ true – standing up to your friend is much, much harder than being brave in the face of an enemy. A friend is supposed to be on your side. “You haven't seen, but I have. He didn't even put the parachute on properly, he just jumped -”

“He was gaining our trust -”

“We already trusted him by that point, Jemma. He was going to stay behind in Ossetia so that I could run away. You know what would have happened to him?” Fitz feels his own face heating up. He remembers Ward, staring in utter disbelief when Fitz stubbornly decided not to leave. “They'd kill him. I might have lived, or they might have caught me, but they'd certainly kill him.”

“It was just a trick, Fitz,” she voices her exasperation. “How can you be so naïve?!”

“I am not, Jemma,” he says. “I am aware that it _can_ be. But it could also be the truth -”

“So what? Does that change any of what he's done, for God's sake, Fitz, you are in a wheelchair!”

Fitz can feel his face going completely cold. Numb and slack jawed in shock and just cold. 

“Yes, Jemma,” he rolls forward to her and then stands up. His leg hurts and his balance isn't the best and his crutch is somewhere in his quarters, but he can't do this any more. “I am in the wheelchair. _I_ am the one crawling on the mat every day when we're not running away. _Me_. Not you.”

And with that he storms away. 

*

The rescue mission is set in twelve hours. It's the middle of the night. Fitz is willing to bet that nobody is asleep. 

The bus is on autopilot, dimly lit (almost like in the old days) and quiet like a graveyard. Fitz opens his bunk door and closes it without significant trouble, and holds onto walls and objects on his way to The Cage. 

It's a room for prisoners. Not something that deserves a fancy and mysterious separate name. When he opens the door Ward is sitting on the narrow bed, fully dressed, with his back against the wall. 

“You shouldn't be here,” he says. It's the first thing he says to Fitz in months. 

Fitz replies with the first thought that crosses his mind. 

“Well, you shouldn't either,” he says, feeling the anger rise inside his chest. “Your bunk is across mine.”

“That's not my bunk, Fitz,” Ward replies. 

“It's supposed to be. Was. And it _was_ yours.”

Ward narrows his eyes. 

“I was never a part of the team,” he says. 

“Really?” Fitz retorts. He walks over to the table and pulls out a chair, straddles it so he's leaning his elbows against the back of the chair. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me that every single thing you said and did was a lie?” 

It looks like Ward wants to say something, but bites back the answer. Fitz feels like everything inside him is shaking with the power of his following question. 

“Why?” he asks. And Ward just looks at him, his stone - faced mask cracking at the edges, but he remains silent. 

Not that Fitz expected he'd speak the first time when he was asked. 

“Let me know when you have an explanation,” Fitz says. “Because I bloody deserve one.”

*

In the end it's like pieces solving a puzzle. Just like Skye said once. And here's the thing – Ward was a piece of their puzzle since the beginning. The mission is a success because all of them are there to do their part of the job. 

They get Skye back and she looks unharmed. She looks relieved, but there's also a haunted look in her eyes and after she slips out of Jemma's embrace she tells them they've got just in time. 

“In time for what?” Coulson asks. She doesn't answer but her eyes briefly pause on Ward and Fitz has a feeling like something passes between them, something like understanding they used to have. Only, it feels dreadful and cold. 

*

Fitz isn't sure why Coulson asks Ward to stick around. Maybe he's desperate. Maybe it's the fact that both government and what's left of Hydra (and apparently, there's plenty of Hydra alive and kicking) that want them all dead. Maybe it's the fact that Skye's gone quiet and distant and Coulson is ready to look for answers anywhere they can be found. In the end it doesn't matter – Ward stays to mutual displeasure between him and the rest of the team. Or rather most of them. Skye is apathetic and worried, and Fitz still waits for his explanations. In any case, Ward is wearing an electronic tag and reports to Coulson four times a day. He's not allowed on missions at first, and he's kept locked up (even though that wouldn't stop him, would it?) The bracelet is another matter completely, but Fitz is certain that in given situation, if Ward wanted to leave, he would. He thinks of the stories he heard as a child, of wolves who would bite off their own legs to free themselves from a trap. He hopes nothing pushes Ward into that kind of desperation.

*

Two weeks go. There's a mission. Ward goes with Coulson and both return hurt. 

Fitz watches Jemma as she patches Ward up – just like before, only she barely looks at him, and she doesn't speak to him. 

“Thank you,” he says when she's finished. Jemma looks at her hands. 

“That doesn't mean you're forgiven,” she says. Fitz can see how tightly she holds her jaw. 

“That's fine,” Ward's voice is quiet and almost soft. “I'm not going to ask you to forgive me.”

*

A month goes and Ward doesn't do one wrong thing. Not one. (And knowing Ward, or at least drawing from his previous experience with Ward, Fitz thinks this isn’t surprising at all. If that man decides not to make mistakes, he won't make them. Given that he knows all the rules, all the variables. Sometimes Fitz thinks he'd make a fine engineer.) But things are far from good. In fact, everyone is feeling miserable. 

It's like they, the collective them, have been cut in the middle, and said cut is constantly bleeding and slowly poisoning everything. Ward keeps removing himself from the rest of them. He's quiet and unobtrusive and absolutely undemanding, but everything seems to revolve around him. The expression of hurt never leaves Skye's face. May has never been as closed off and detached. Coulson spends too much time away in his office, and Jemma is steel faced. Trip is busy, and when he isn't, even his easy going attitude is ruined. 

In fact everything is ruined. 

Fitz isn't sure whom to blame. Sometimes he's angry at Ward, sometimes he's angry at everyone, all of them including himself for being unable to fix this crappy situation. 

Fitz knows how to build machines. He knows how to make replacement parts when the regular ones aren't handy, but he doesn't know much about human psychology. However, the common sense suggests that the proverbial elephant in the room won't go away by itself, so one morning he walks into the gym while it's still super early and only one person is there. 

Ward looks like he's willing to murder the boxing bag. Fitz ignores how he _looks_ \- ignores even the way he stops and stares at Fitz and his workout clothes and his limp. Fitz settles himself on the bench he frequently uses, ready to start with the smaller set of weights. 

“You work out?” Ward asks while Fitz is setting up a rhythm – lower the weights to the chest, lift them, hold, repeat. 

“Yes,” Fitz says between carefully counted breaths. He definitely feels Ward's eyes on him for a couple of moments before he returns to his own practice – and then leaves after ten minutes. 

Fitz counts the fact that Ward didn't run away immediately as a victory. 

*

Then one morning on the Bus he finally manages to catch Ward in the kitchen. 

“Is that coffee?” he asks as if Ward doesn't flinch when Fitz comes in. 

“Yes,” Ward says after a beat of silence. 

“Oh, great. You know Simmons makes awful coffee. Tea, she rocks at, but coffee? Nah. Would you mind making an extra cup?” 

*

Two weeks later Skye walks in. She doesn't say anything, but when Ward sees her, he picks up his cup and leaves. (He looks like a dog with tail tucked between his legs.) Fitz looks at her briefly, struggling between frustration and understanding and sadness. 

“Ward, wait,” he calls. “I'm coming as well.”

* 

Then it's the post mission things. 

Like Fitz finding Ward sitting alone in a supply closet on the base, drowning a beer. 

“What the bloody hell are you drinking?” Fitz asks. And Ward gives him one of those _isn't it obvious_ looks that Fitz remembers so well. 

“Beer,” he says. 

“Leave that crap,” Fitz insists. “I've got something better.”

And Ward follows him to his quarters, a bit reluctantly. He doesn't comment on Fitz's mess, or crutches, or wheelchair. He does make a surprised face at what he thinks is a bottle of oil. 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Fitz says as he finds two glasses and lets Ward in on one of his best kept secrets. Ward studies the drink in his hands, tries it a bit sceptically, then gives Fitz another surprised expression. 

“Well, that was unexpected,” he says. “Where did you get this? What _is_ this?”

Fitz doesn't mention noticing Ward's first genuine, excited interest in something. Instead he smugly grins. 

“I am, in fact, Scottish,” he says. Ward grins. Even if he doesn't mention enjoying his drink, it's obvious that he appreciates is quite a bit. 

*

“You don't do this kind of shit, man,” Trip is a tad bit too loud, so Fitz pokes his head into the lab. The Warsaw mission almost went to hell. Ward told everyone he was fine after he and Trip managed to get away from Hydra soldiers. However, things don't seem all that fine - Ward is sitting on the gurney, glaring daggers in Trip's direction as he suffers through the process of having a cut on his arm stitched. “You don't attempt to fix your wounds yourself, you don't even think it -”

“I did that for myself for years, Tripplett, I don't _need_ you to do it -”

“Oh you don't need me? That's messed up, man,” Trip says and straightens. 

“You'd know it,” Ward mutters. They don't seem to notice Fitz, who slowly walks inside. 

“Tell me something,” Trip says. “Do I speak Polish?”

Ward pauses. 

“I don't know,” he says. 

“Well what do you _think_?”

“No,” Ward seems to weigh his words. “I don't think you do, but I'm not sure.”

“Exactly,” Trip says, finding a gauze. He gently places it over his stitches, and then finds a bandage. “Which means my ass was in your hands, Ward. You did the talking, and I trusted you to get us out of there, and you _did_. Now I could have shot my way out, but I prefer how we got through that crowded train station – thanks to you – so I think you could at least let me treat your wounds, you stubborn mule.” 

Ward's jaw almost drops. Fitz decides to save the moment. 

“You did not just call him a stubborn mule,” Fitz says. 

“I totally did,” Trip says. Ward's mouth forms a thin line. 

“You know what,” Fitz says. “Instead of arguing, how about we all have a nice drink?” 

Trip slants a disapproving look at Fitz. Which is, of course, completely fake. 

“Drink? Are you saying you have alcohol in your possession? You,” he points at Fitz, “have been holding out on me!”

“No, I did not,” Fitz says. “There simply wasn't a situation that asked for that kind of drink.”

Ward snorts at this. Trip fake – glares at him then. 

“Oh he knows? _He knows_?” Trip is overreacting so awesomely, and something like ice that's been covering the atmosphere around the team is starting to melt. “You, mate, have favorites, and I am apparently not among them.” 

“That's bloody bullshit,” Fitz says, crossing his arms. 

“Well, prove it,” Trip shoots back. Ward doesn't say anything, but the way he holds himself is way less stiff and awkward. 

“I can, by sharing my awesome secret stash of drink with you lads.”

Trip looks at Ward. 

“I am all for it,” Trip says. And even though Ward doesn't say anything, he tags along without a protest. 

*

Next time after a bad mission three of them are sitting on the kitchen floor, with Fitz's bottle passing between them, when Skye walks in. 

She looks at them, her eyes pausing on Ward. Then she looks at Trip and Fitz. 

“I've heard you guys are smuggling something even better than Coulson's fancy stuff,” she says. 

Trip smirks. Looks at two other men.

“You think she can handle it?” 

“You think your ass can handle being whooped, Tripplett?” Skye retorts. 

Fitz gets up to find another glass and Skye settles across from them on the floor. 

 

*

Fitz considers punching the console in front of him. Rationally, he knows that wouldn't help. Emotionally, it would make him feel better up to the moment when he'd have to fix the bloody thing and make it work again, which is why he refrains from punching. Simmons' voice sounds panicked in his ear, and Ward of all people is trying to calm her down. 

The team is in trouble, and the thing is, he can't fix anything from here, he needs to be on site and not locked up in this lab. Across him, Ward's knuckles turn dangerously white as he grips the metal edge of the lab desk. 

“Anything?” Ward asks and Fitz shakes his head. They were ordered to stay put and now they're looking at the rest of the team minus Simmons, who is at the base, split up and in danger. Skye is too far away from any kind of controls, May is trapped under rubble and probably injured, Coulson and Trip are pinned down by gunfire. 

And there is one unguarded entry, given that someone breaks the door or … Fitz looks up and finds Ward staring at him, practically jumping out of his skin. 

“I can dismantle their system from the control room, which would help Skye, but I can't get there quickly enough -”

“And I could climb the air duct and get behind the group shooting at Trip and Coulson -” Ward says. “But -”

“I'll say I made you do it,” Fitz says, “If you help me walk a bit faster.”

“And Coulson's gonna buy that,” Ward says. 

“That's really important now when all of them could die,” Fitz says. Ward sets his jaw. 

“I'll carry you,” he says. 

Half an hour later they make their escape – Ward dodging gunfire and carrying Fitz on his back; and Fitz holding onto Ward.

*

“He's having a heart attack,” Simmons says and Fitz can clearly hear fear in her voice. She doesn't like Ward but she tolerates him because that's what the task is. However when the comms go out and the only link the team has with Ward and Trip is Ward's tracker implant, and Ward's pulse and blood pressure go through the roof, Simmons starts to panic. “Oh God, he's having a heart attack. Skye -” 

“Working on it,” she says, frantically typing. The compound is, of course, controlled by a mastodon of a system that seems to evade all of Skye's skill and attempts to bring it down. “Fuck.” 

All Fitz, Coulson and May can do is look at the screen with Ward's vitals. 

“Do we know what's going on?” Coulson asks Simmons who is trying to get more information. The implant is doing what it's supposed to – tracking Ward's location and vital signs. 

“All we know is that they're here,” Skye points at the screen in front of her and then pulls up the image to the big screen of the Bus' control room. The map flickers into view -

“That's a pool,” Fitz realizes, glancing at Skye and then Simmons whose face grows pale. “Who knows what -” 

He doesn't finish, for Simmon's sake. She's still typing, but Ward's pulse keeps beeping wildly – and then suddenly calms down. 

Simmons lets out a harsh breath of relief. “He's fine,” she says. 

*

They get back soaking wet. 

“What was inside that pool?” Coulson asks as Simmons makes Ward lay down on the gurney and suffer through an EKG. 

“Just water, Sir,” Trip says. Coulson seems confused, and Trip even more so. Ward mutely stares at the ceiling. “Why?” Trip asks innocently. 

Skye doesn't seem to know where to look. May's jaw is tight. Ward is unnaturally still, even for his standards. 

“Because Simmons rightfully believed Ward was having a heart attack,” Coulson says. Fitz still flinches at the lack of “agent” that used to come before Ward's name. 

“I am fine, Sir,” Ward mutters. Simmons hands him a towel and removes the EKG machine. 

“Would you like to see your readouts?” Coulson asks. “What happened there?” 

“We were swimming, Sir,” Trip says. “In fact, the pool was pretty dark and it was a convenient hiding place -” 

“Ward,” Coulson insists. Ward stares at him defiantly. 

“I handled it, is all,” he starts but before he can finish Simmons looks up and then she's standing in front of him, eyes full of tears. 

“No, _No_. Don't you dare to lie to us,” she's saying, sounding angry and frustrated and betrayed. “Not again, not when we're all trying! I know what I've seen and I though you were going to _die_ and nobody can help you if we don't know you're in danger or not well!” 

“You don't have to help me,” Ward says quietly, but this time it's Coulson who interrupts him. 

“Listen to me, Ward,” he says. “That kind of attitude will not fly, because out there you're not responsible only for yourself. You're responsible for others and others are responsible for you, and if there is some kind of issue, if there is something you can't handle, for whatever reason, _we need to know_. Now, what happened in the water?!”

Fitz sees Ward's jaw slightly tremble. He sees a vein pulsing on his forehead. He literally sees him getting a grip on whatever he is feeling and closing himself off. And just when Fitz thinks the conversation is over and that they won't get one more word for him, Ward speaks. 

“When I was six my brother threw me in the well behind our house,” he grits out, trying so hard not to let his voice falter. “But I can handle it now.”

That's all he manages before he snatches the towel he's been given and marches out. 

Fitz thinks someone sucked out all the air out of the lab. They all share looks – but nobody is able to say anything, except for Trip cursing under his breath. He's about to run after Ward, but Skye catches his arm. 

“No, Trip... let him,” she says. She doesn't try to hide that her voice is breaking. 

Fitz rubs his face and decides that he too needs some room. And perhaps something to punch. 

*

Fitz had the basic combat training, and by basic, it means not enough of it – well, certainly not enough for the kind of trouble his team gets into. Bot somehow he managed to shoot a man before. Shoot him to death, in fact.

Now, as he scrambles for Ward's gun another shot echoes and Ward jerks on the floor as he's hit _again_. 

Fitz fires. And fires. And fires, until he's out of bullets and the floor is covered in blood and his hands are shaking as he's fumbling for a communicator and then he's yelling over sickening, gurgling sounds coming from Ward. 

“I need help, I have an agent down, I have an agent down, does anyone hear me? I have an _agent down_! Help!”

*

After hours and hours of waiting – after not quite sleeping in that chair in the waiting room the doctor emerges (the doctor whom Fitz knows so well), bringing a grim expression with him. 

“The first bullet that hit him was a graze, but the second one was most probably a ricochet,” Doctor Robertson starts, removing the surgical cap with ridiculous polka dots. Fitz can't focus on anything else but the cap, and can't fight the wave of nausea and can't really stand without supporting himself on a nearby table. “It hit his lumbar area and caused a swelling. At this point we're not sure if he ...”

Coulson's face hardens and Skye is pale and Jemma's lip trembles and May looks at Trip. Fitz covers his face and thinks he can't breathe. He _knows_ , knows exactly what's awaiting Ward, knows the humiliation of not being able to get up and use the toilet on his own, knows the terrified feeling of numbness and legs he can see but can't move. Oh God, how he knows. 

“What does this mean?” Coulson demands before the Doctor is able to finish speaking. 

“We don't know if he will lose the control over his lower body,” he says and pauses. The silence weighs a ton. “A swelling is pressing against the lumbar area of his spine, which will probably affect his mobility. Only after the swelling is gone, we will know if there is permanent damage to his spinal chord.”

“My God,” Skye says. 

*

It takes a night and entire day until Ward wakes up. 

Simmons doesn't tell Fitz to go to Bus and doesn't attempt to arrange a place for him to sleep, she instead brings him a cup of coffee and curls on a couch next to him. Coulson hasn't left either, and it seems that he spends the night pacing the corridors. May finds a spot to sit outside the corridor where ICU is placed. 

Skye spends most of her time standing in front of glass door. 

Standing next to Skye in some ungodly hour, Fitz can barely see Ward who is surrounded with machines and blinking lights and tubes. 

“It's unfair,” he says. Skye blinks at him. “He's …. supposed to be strong. He was always so strong,” Fitz frowns, feeling like he's finally seeing something. Something that makes sense. He fails to put it into words, but the realization is right there under his grasp. 

“I know,” Skye says brokenly. In need for human contact and comfort Fitz hugs her and she hugs him back. 

*

There's silence outside Ward's room as the doctors go in to explain his condition to him. He's been moved to a regular room after waking up, and this one as well has a thick glass on the door. Fitz can see him better from here, can see his expression and knows the exact moment when Ward realizes that he cannot move his toes, doesn't feel when someone touches his legs. Fitz _knows_ and it hurts; and this feels even worse than hearing it himself all those months ago. Even without his legs Fitz still had his mind... what does Ward have if he can't stand, run and fight? 

*

There's a cruse, not really loud but profane and painful after something – someone – crashes behind the bathroom door. Simmons startles and Fitz is on his feet, grabbing his crutch and walking to the door. 

“Go get Trip,” he says to Simmons who looks ready to step in and help, but Fitz knows the last thing Ward needs is for her to open that door. Two weeks has passed and he can move around in a wheelchair (but he doesn't) and he's sulking and trying to avoid everyone, except he cant get up, leave and hide, like he usually does. As big as this base is, it's still too small. “Ward?” he calls. 

“Go... away,” Ward says from behind the door. Fitz can hear moving. 

“Do you need help?”

Silence. 

“Ward?”

“Fuck off, Fitz,” he says quietly, but Fitz can still hear it, and hearing it hurts. Not because Fitz feels rejected. Trip walks in then and looks at Fitz, looks around the room and realization dawns on his face. 

“Ward? Do you need help?” Trip calls. 

“I'm fine,” Ward growls at them. Fitz hears moving, shuffling and then another thud. A curse uttered through gritted teeth. 

“Did you fall again?” Fitz says. “Ward?”

He curses. “I can wipe my ass on my own,” he says, and Fitz looks at Trip and closes his eyes for a moment. And yes, he understands but the last thing they should do now is leave him to _this_ , to struggle on his own.

“Well man, I don't care if you're decent or not, you sure don't have anything I haven't seen,” Trip says and reaches for the door handle. 

When they get inside, Ward is fully dressed, but he's uselessly sitting on the floor, and from his position there isn't anything he can hold onto to lift himself up and into the wheelchair, which is too far away. “Okay, man, let's do this,” Trip says. 

Fitz notices how Ward's arms shake with effort. He doesn't look at either of them and pushes Trip's hand away when Trip wants to help him up into his bed. Then he barely drags himself up. Fitz pulls a blanket over him, met with resentful silence. Then, 

“Can you both leave me now?” Ward asks when he turns on his side, facing the wall. 

“Sure, man,” Trip says. Fitz leaves, turning twice to look at Ward's back. The thing is, he shouldn't be alone. He absolutely shouldn't. 

Fitz runs into Skye and Simmons in front of the door, both looking worried. 

*

For someone who regards workout as something essential to his life, Ward absolutely sucks at physio. He does everything he's told, but without true intention behind any of the exercises Trip has him doing. It's frustrating enough that Trip wants to pull his hair out (not that he has a lot of it, but Fitz understands the sentiment). 

They all try everything they can think of, from statistics about healing and improved mobility and importance of physical therapy, to bribes (food, alcohol, movies, _board games_ ), but nothing works. Ward has shut down and is systematically shutting everyone out, and the less he commits himself to recovery, lesser are the chances he will succeed. 

Orders don't work either, but that possibly fails because Coulson's attempt to order Ward into dedication is half hearted. 

Ward just wants them all to go. In just a matter of days he begins withering away, like a plant exposed to relentless heat. 

Fitz acquires a habit of checking on Ward during various times of day and night. He supposes Ward knows, because his crutch, and sometimes wheelchair, when he feels particularly tired, make him a loud passer by and a visitor, but ultimately Fitz doesn't care. If there is anything Ward needs to be aware of is that someone bloody cares. 

*

One night, around three a.m. Fitz hears voices coming from the direction of the med bay. He walks over there, as quietly as he can, and there is no need to go all the way to Ward's door. Skye's voice carries clearly through the night silence. 

“... and you're not even trying -”

Ward's answer is muffled. 

“No, no. That's _not_ the truth,” Skye is saying. “I may not know what it's like to be nearly paralyzed, but I do know what recovering from a close call feels like, and who says you can't recover? Ward, if you were... if you were still my SO, and I was in that bed instead of you, what would you have me do? What would you tell me? Can you come up with that? Well good, because I want you, no I _need_ you to say that to yourself.”

*

Other time is Simmons. She's adjusting the headrest of Ward's bed and talking mile a minute, the way she usually does – as if certain things didn't ever happen – she asks him if he's comfortable, and how his back feels, if he needs another pillow. If he wants some food. 

Ward looks at his folded hands and sheet – covered legs. The expression is a mask – Fitz knows the fake calmness by now and can see other things around the edges, but it's fear that stands out. 

“Ward,” Simmons says and her voice is warm. “I've made you a sandwich,” she says. The familiar brown paper bag appears from a nightstand Ward can't see due to his position. Simmons gently places it near his hands. “Ward? Please eat it.” 

*

After that Fitz notices a shift. Ward starts to eat. Starts to gain weight. Allows May to push his wheelchair and voluntarily sits through an entire movie evenings. He starts to master the wheelchair on his own, which isn't a matter of strength for him – there's something so utterly heartbreaking about seeing him reaching an obstacle he can't move around while trapped in his position. 

Which is, possibly, the thing that motivates him to try harder. Trip intensifies the workouts. And Ward works, and works, and eventually the day when he can stand on his own arrives. 

*

After that it's almost like he's hit the wall. 

It doesn't matter how strong Ward is. It doesn't matter that his legs are essentially unharmed, or that he's used to extensive physical strain. When he tries to walk with support, his legs and then arms give out. Taking even a small step is so, so hard. 

At first he believes them all – that it takes time, that it's literally re-learning how to walk, that his muscles have atrophied and need time. (That _he_ needs time). But Fitz senses more than he knows that something is utterly wrong, and it's not Ward's legs or his spine. 

* 

What follows is so typical for Ward. It's the equivalent of trying to punch his rage out until the boxing bag almost damages his fists. The way he pushes himself isn't going to help him and when they try to tell him this, the answer they get is “First you wanted me to work harder and now you want me to stop. What do you want??” 

So he tries. And tries. And then nearly injures himself again, which earns him an earfull from Simmons who does her best not to yell at him, so instead she ends up crying. 

But that doesn't stop him, nor do Skye's pleas, or Trip's calm advice. (Whatever May attempts ends up with Ward yelling at her and May leaving, looking deeply upset.)

*

He's not supposed to be in the gym. Trip started hiding away the keys, just to prevent Ward from overworking, and the fact that he found them only testifies to his resourcefulness. Any person who can do that in wheelchair – find that set of keys, steal them and sneak into the gym while the base is completely quiet, can never be useless (which is what Fitz suspects Ward is fearing.) 

Fitz slowly opens the door to look inside. If Ward notices him, he doesn't let it show. 

Fitz can see him standing between two wooden beams, his arms shaking with the effort, but what makes Fitz's chest hurt are the sounds. Gasping, painful breaths as Ward takes one step, and another, and another, and the there's a cry. 

And he falls. 

Fitz can feel heaving breaths. Can hear choked, half broken sounds and can see Ward not moving, like he can't, like his entire body won't listen to him.... like he's given up. 

And that's it. Fitz can't just watch this and be a calming support any more. 

“Bloody hell, Ward, what did you do?” he says when he kneels next to Ward, but when Fitz tries to touch him, Ward pushes him away. 

He scrambles backwards and his face is red, his eyes watery, filled with tears. Fitz stares from the spot where Ward's push has dumped him, how the taller man backs himself against the wall and then curls into himself, breathing hard and fast and shallow. 

“Go,” he says. “Please leave me.”

“No,” Fitz answers. 

“Fitz, just _go_.”

“No -”

“Go, there's nothing you can do to help me -”

“Bullshit,” Fitz says, feeling pain and anger and something like dread. “I am not leaving.... not until you talk to me.”

Ward gives him a hard, devastating look. 

“No,” he wheezes. 

“You're not useless,” Fitz presses, crawling closer. “You're not failing anyone. You're not alone, and for God's sake, you can't do this overnight. It doesn't work that way.” 

Against the wall, Ward is breathing heavily and rapidly blinking.

“You're not useless, Ward, just because your rehab isn't going so quickly as you might have thought -”

When Ward speaks, Fitz barely hears him. 

“No. I am weak,” he says. 

“What? Who told you that? You're not weak -”

“I am -”

“Ward, your injury was serious. Life threatening. Needing help is not a weakness -”

“I... I go in alone,” he starts. The way his face changes makes Fitz pause. It reminds him of something. It's like an echo of something he's seen. God, he's seen that hollow look. “I get everything done. That's... that's my whole purpose. That's why I was here for.”

“Who ever told you that nonsense?” Fitz says as pieces start to fall into place. 

_We're friends, right? We had laughs together._

Ward doesn't answer. He's back to blinking and breathing and looking like someone trying not to cry. 

“Ward, that's... is that one of those specialists myths? The we-do-it-alone crap? It's impossible, Ward. Someone plans the mission. Someone goes through tactical details with you. Someone provides your weapons and everything else that's necessary. Someone waits as a back up -”

Ward shakes his head and interrupts him. “No back up,” he looks at Fitz. “I didn't need back up.”

Fitz pauses again. He distinctly remembers that day when they ended up abandoned on a mission in the middle of hostile territory. He remembers the way Ward looked at him when Fitz refused to leave. 

Suddenly it's clear. 

“Who taught you that you weren't worth saving?”

Ward loses the fight against himself, and when he breaks, he breaks quietly. He doesn't sob or cry aloud, there are just tears and Ward trying to wipe them, trying to remain calm, almost as if nothing particular or important was happening. 

Fitz moves closer to sit next to him. The floor of the gym is cold, but Fitz doesn't move. Ward doesn't answer the question but Fitz thinks he knows the answer. 

“Bloody hell, Ward. What did Garrett do?”

Ward tries to pull himself together. The crying slows but doesn't stop. Fitz resigns himself that Ward won't speak at all, and he is ready to be the one to talk, ready to tell him all the important things; that he counts and matters and nobody things he is weak, and just when Fitz is about to say it, Ward starts talking. 

His voice is detached and flat, almost lifeless. He tells Fitz about his brothers, he tells him about the well, about the fear and wanting to run away, wanting to hide and not being able to, because who would protect his younger brother then? He confesses about the house fire and juvy and meeting John Garrett. 

“I chose to go,” he says and starts telling about the training, but what Fitz is hearing is a history of social isolation and abuse; and all Fitz can see before him is a man who had been bending and bending and bending in order to _survive_ until he renounced his right to will of his own. Until survival was all he had left. As if he were an animal and nothing more. And then Fitz can clearly see it, the hollow look on Ward's face, like someone has sucked out his soul, before he pushed the buttons on control panel and before the medical pod fell out of the plane. 

Everything fits. Every piece has fallen into place and Fitz can understand it. There is his answer. 

“Ward,” he starts, but when he reaches out, Ward flinches away. 

“I almost killed you.”

“And you saved my life,” Fitz says. 

“You could have died, Fitz. You could have ended up in coma, or with brain damage or -,” he pauses and sucks in a breath. “Paralyzed.”

“But I didn't,” Fitz says, “and you saved my life again. By taking a bullet for me.”

Ward is silent at that. 

“I got what I deserved,” he says then. 

Fitz has a sudden, all encompassing urge to punch something. 

“No,” he says. “ _No_ , because nobody deserves what you got Ward. _Nobody_.”

Ward looks at him completely confused, like he doesn't understand a word. 

“Everything that happened to you, nobody deserves to live like that -”

“But things I did,” Ward begins. And Fitz understands how cause leads to effect – fail yourself and fail the ones you love, try harder and fail again until frustration builds so high that the only thing left is desperation. And the next thing you do, after years of despair is born out of despair, but it doesn't help. It only makes things worse until someone appears and promises help. And when you're drowning you don't exactly judge the person who throws you a life saving rope. You just grab it. 

By the time you can look around you, you're already in trouble. 

“Did you want to hurt me?” Fitz asks then. Ward's jaw clenches and then trembles. It takes a couple of heartbeats before he's able to respond. 

“No,” he says. “But that doesn't excuse me.”

“It does make all the difference, though,” Fitz says calmly. “You weren't born evil, nobody is. What Garrett did to you... caused everything you did. And that means... that means you're not a bad person, or you don't have to be if you don't want to. There was you before all of this, even if it's hard to see. And there was you who could walk, before you suddenly couldn't. Do you understand me?”

Ward blinks and swallows and keeps looking at Fitz. 

“What I did to all of you -”

“Ward,” Fitz says gently, patiently. “I forgive you. I've _forgiven_ you. I don't want you to be a slave to your past. Please, Ward.”

Because if that's how it remains, then John bloody Garret has won. 

“What... what are you saying?”

“Ward,” Fitz's voice is quiet. “If you can't forgive yourself, then at least try to _understand_ yourself. Try as you would if it was me, or Simmons or Skye. Please Ward. Just try.”

Ward's mouth is a thin line when he nods. It's the only kind of promise he can give right now, because in the next moment he starts to cry again. This time, when Fitz tries to put an arm around him, Ward doesn't push him away. 

*

They spend the rest of the night on the floor in Fitz's quarters, with the familiar bottle between them, and with blankets and cushions under their butts. If Fitz is somewhat drunk, he doesn't mind. Ward seems to hold up pretty well on his own, but his words are starting to slur. It's Fitz who does most of the talking anyway. About inane things and his Academy days and his insecurities and frustrations. How sometimes his leg still hurts so much, he wants to curl in a corner. 

“But you don't,” Ward says. Fitz stares ahead. 

“No, I don't. Because it will pass. But in that moment it just.... hurts. You just have to let it hurt, I suppose.”

Ward nods. 

“I think I can do that,” he says. 

“One thing, though,” Fitz observes, looking at their outstretched legs. 

“Yeah?” 

“If you're hurting, don't be afraid to tell someone.”


End file.
